Stuka Pilot

In the meantime our aircraft have been got ready and we take off at once, flying high and following the main road north to Foscari. Six miles south of this town we observe gigantic clouds of dust: if that is not already the tanks—it is! We attack; they leave the road and scatter in the fields. But that does not save them. We shoot up some of them, then go back for fresh ammunition and continue our engagement with the same column. Wherever you look, masses of men and mate rial, all Russian, mostly Mongolians. Are their reserves of manpower so inexhaustible? We get fresh practical evidence that the productive capacity of the U.S.S.R. has been greatly underestimated by everybody and that no one knows the true facts. The masses of tanks, time and again unimaginable in their number, are the most convincing proof of this. Many motor vehicles are also of American origin. One sortie follows hard upon another, from dawn till dusk, as during all these years.

It is one of the last days of August. I take off early in the morning to fly into the area where the Reds have broken through in the north and have climbed to 150 feet above my own aerodrome. Suddenly the flak opens fire; it is manned by Rumanians who are supposed to defend our airfield against attacks by Russian and American aircraft. I look in the direction of the bursting shells and search the sky for enemy bombers. Have the Americans got up so early this morning? I bank over the runway with my formation so as to wait for further developments under the protection of our own A.A. defense. Curiously, the puffs of the bursting shells have shifted lower down and some of them are unpleasantly close to my aircraft. I look down at the firing batteries and see that the guns are swiveling round to follow our maneuvers; one burst just misses me. There is not an enemy plane in sight. Now there is no longer any doubt, the flak is firing at us. It is quite inexplicable to me, but it must be so. We fly north on our mission against the Soviet offensive which is pushing on in force from the area Husi—Barlad—Foscari.

On our return to the aerodrome I am prepared for any further flak antics on the part of the Rumanians; my ground control has already told me as we fly back that the guns were aimed at me. From now on, Rumania is at war with us. We at once come in at low level, landing singly. Individual A.A. guns again open fire on us, but with no more success than before. I immediately go to the telephone and get put through to the Rumanian Air Commodore Jonescu. He is in command of Rumanian air force units, including flak, and I know him well personally from Husi, he wears German decorations. I tell him I have to assume that the unfriendly attentions of this morning were meant for me and my squadron, and ask him if this is so? He does not deny it; he says that his A.A. gunners have seen a German fighter shoot down a Rumanian courier plane and that consequently, even here, they are greatly incensed and are firing at all German aircraft. He does not yet make any mention of the state of war existing between Germany and Rumania. I reply to his complaint that I have not the least intention of standing for this nonsense and that I was going out on another sortie against the Russians N. of Ramnicul Sarrat. Now, however, I propose first to bomb and machine gun the flak on our aerodrome with my Stuka squadron in order to eliminate the possibility of any interference with our start. With the other squadron we shall attack his staff headquarters; I know exactly where they are.

“For God’s sake don’t do that. We have always been the best of friends and we cannot be held responsible for the actions of our governments. I made you a proposition: we will neither of us do anything and, as far as we are concerned, the declaration of war does not exist. I give you my personal guarantee that not another shot will be fired in my command against your Stukas.”

He reasseverates his old friendship for me and his friendly feelings towards us Germans in general. With this a separate peace enters into force for both of us, nor have I any further grounds for complaint. A curious situation: I am here alone with my flying personnel on this aerodrome in a country at war with us. Two Rumanian divisions with all their equipment, including heavy artillery, surround our airfield. Who is to stop them liquidating us overnight? In the hours of darkness this is a very uncomfortable predicament, in the daylight we are strong again. Even two divisions are not likely to show themselves too aggressive against my Stukas when they are so concentrated and exposed in this open country.